Prussia's Last Goodbyes
by CeceMonet-alias
Summary: "Everyone knew it was bound to happen someday...Look at me, six feet under, and I'll bet most of you still hate me." This is Prussia's last goodbyes, read at his funeral by his little brother. KindA AU, human/country names, FIRST TRAGEDY, NO LIKE NO READ.


**Darkness Revolution: This is why I shouldn't be allowed to watch three tragedy movies in a row… :.) Hope you like, but it's kinda sad… I don't own Hetalia…**

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><p><span>Prussia's Last Goodbyes<span>

Hallo to all.

I know I'm supposed to begin my will with "this is the last will and testament of the Kingdom of Prussia, Gilbert Belishmidt" or some shit like that, but really, I just want to say a few words at my own funeral.

Everyone knew this was bound to happen someday. I kept telling everyone who said I wasn't supposed to be alive that I was just too awesome to die, but look where it's gotten me. Six feet under, and I bet most of you still hate me.

No matter. Love me, hate me, think I'm awesome, think I suck, in the end, I just want to say my last goodbyes so there's nothing keeping me here from hell. Heaven? No, not a single nation in the world will ever get to heaven, and we know it. Wars, genocide, racism, fascism, apartheid, segregation, dictatorships, death and destruction; it's all keeping us from that place every human person dreams of, regardless of religion or nationality.

And so we begin.

To Feliciano, my soon-to-be little brother-in-law:

Good for you for finally pulling the stick out of my brother's ass. I swear, West surely has loosened up since he met you, so thank you. It probably did wonders for his heart and stuff like that.

Even though I won't be able to confirm that you do this, could you please take care of him? I knew I couldn't die until I knew he was taken care of, and I'm not sure you're completely fit for the task, but I'm counting on you, Ita. Grant a dead nation one wish, okay? Just… look out for each other.

I wish you a wonderful life; one filled with plenty of pasta and pizza, and love for mein Brüder.

To Roderich, probably the only country who could ever put up with my pestering and overall irritations:

I probably never even said this in any of my awesome journals, but you're a great guy. Sure, you're an aloof, pompous, cheapskate aristocrat who occasionally screws a piano, but, as I said, you're the only one to ever really put up with my irritating personality, and I thank you for that. And your piano-playing isn't actually half bad. That's coming from someone who hates classical music, so you should feel good about yourself right now.

Listen, I know I've constantly stolen your vital regions (and, sometimes, your wife), but I have something I'd really like for you to do for me. In West's basement, there's a room with all my shelves of journals. I don't want you to keep them all, but there's a certain section on the second shelf—starting at about Book 143 to Book 158—that I'd like you to store. Those are all the War of Austrian Secession, and there are a few things in there you may be able to laugh at a couple decades from now. Sure, it's me proclaiming my awesomeness (which I still retain, even in death, mind you), but somehow, I think you may find that funny now.

And one more thing. All the rest of those journals? Except sections 103-117 and 245-296 (those I'm giving to others), you can get rid of. Burn them, shred them, bury them, recycle them, dump them in a river, I don't care. Just get rid of them; they're not necessary to anyone.

Thank you for putting up with my awesomeness, and for letting me mooch off you. In the end, you made a great drinking buddy, and I wish you and Lizzy the best.

To Elizaveta, the woman I grew up and conquered Eastern Europe with:

First thing I want you to know—the only thing I really want you to remember, if nothing else—is that I love you. I love you more than anyone else, even my awesome life itself. I've loved you since even before I found out you were a girl. No matter what I deny in my Awesome Diaries, I love you so much. I don't care if you think I'm kidding, because I died knowing the truth. You asked me why I stood up when the preacher at your wedding to Roddy said "speak now or forever hold your peace", and I told you I didn't like him. I was lying. I stopped the wedding because I didn't want to lose you. I'm really sorry I didn't tell you before I bit the dust, but I didn't want to get my heart (and balls) broken if you laughed at me (and hit me with your God damn frying pan).

I already gave your husband a section out of my Awesome Diaries, and I saved one for you, too. One from when we were kids; from when I figured out you were a girl to when we met Austria. That's sections 103-117, and, please, if you're never going to read them, at least keep them in a box in your basement or something.

You and Roddy take care of each other.

To Kiku, the guy I rarely actually got to visit with but was quite fond of anyway:

I hope you're doing okay. I know I hadn't visited your home in years, and it was on my Bucket List, but I never got around to it. Just know that you're awesome, your place is awesome, and I really enjoyed being friends with you.

I left the last copies of your manga that I borrowed sitting on my desk in my room, along with a few of my own original manuscripts. I'm not much of an artist, but do you think you could help a (dead) guy out? They don't have to be published, but at least make them… awesomer than they already are. Which should actually be easy since I suck at drawing…

Also, I have something even more precious I'm trusting you with. Even though I'm six feet under, Gilbird is still alive and going strong. I'm going to need you to take care of him for me till the little guy comes back to me. He usually eats sausage twice a day, and likes beer, like me. You might have to get it from West, cause the little guy is picky about his alcohol. Oh, and don't ever feed him fish. For some reason, seafood makes him sick.

I'm trusting you, don't let me down, okay? Have a nice rest of eternity, kid.

To Feliks and Toris, the only guys who ever kicked my ass in battle:

I know this is really out of character for me, but I really didn't want to have any rocky relationships that could possibly still tie me to earth. In other words, I didn't want to end up haunting you two. So… I'm… sorry. Just… for every wrong I've done you two. I offer a virtual handshake and hope there are no hard feelings, cause that's as far as the awesome me will go with an apology. It took me hours to write this, but it had to be done…

I hope you guys are doin' well and hangin' on. Good luck with the rest of your lives.

To Ivan, the bastard that tried to keep me locked away for an eternity:

This was… probably the hardest to write, because I died still hating your former-communist guts. Yes, unlike America, I can actually recognize when someone has a government change, though all I see in you is the monster that tore me from my brother. Well, The Wall—that God-forsaken wall, the Berlin Wall—has fallen, along with our so-called "Alliance".

You ain't getting nothing from me except feelings of hate, so go freeze your ass of in your damn beloved Siberia. I just hope you never actually fall, so I don't have to deal with you in hell. If you do end up dying, lets just hope you yourself last a few more hundred years, so I can rest in peace.

You know, the only thing I'm confused about is how this page of my goodbyes was the last of a whole trashcan's capacity of pages of me trying to get my feelings across. And boy, were they bipolar. I think the thing is, I'm just a… oh, what's the right word? I can't think of one… Well, I love that I hate you, if that makes sense. I love hating you, and I will never stop hating you, because I love you… no, wait, I don't love… but…

AUGH, THIS IS WHY I HATE YOU.

GOODBYE! Before I give myself brain damage…

To Matthew, the cutest country that no one notices but should:

You, sir, have the best ideas ever, and you know what? It's really just a loss to the people that don't listen to you, because they don't know what the hell they're missing. You're probably the sweetest person I've ever met, and I hope you stay that way forever and ever. One day, you're gonna find yourself someone awesome that can actually see you—the real you—and you're gonna think of me. I don't want you to stop for anyone but that person.

I left you a gift that I meant to give you for your birthday this year; it's sitting in my room on my bed. It'll keep both our memories alive and thriving. It's small, but it's meaningful, and you'll love it, because the Awesome Prussia made it himself just for you.

Know that I, if no one else but France (and your brother, on occasion), will forever acknowledge you, even if we're a world apart. Love you, Birdie.

To Francis and Antonio, the awesomest friends a guy could ask for:

I know you guys are probably going to miss me the most, and the Bad Touch Trio will never again be the most badass trio on the planet. I hate to dissolve the best trio of friends ever (because if you two ever try and replace me I _WILL_ come back to haunt you, so help me God), but… it's the circle of life and all that… and, of course, I'm tearing up as I'm writing this, because I'm gonna miss you guys so much…

I left you guys some—ahem—_old toys of ours_ up in my closet, and I want you two to take care of them. Just… don't ever replace me, okay? No one can ever top this.

Don't anybody _**DARE**_ say "Except Russia", because the poor sap who does will forever be cursed with nightmares and other such hauntings until they have a heart attack and die and join me in hell. Then it's an eternity of torture, buddy.

Anyway, Antonio, Francis, I love you guys, and I hope you two have… _fun_.

Francis- give England a big smooch for me.

Toni- same for Lovino.

And last but not least. To Ludwig, West, Germany, and my beloved little Brüder:

Everything else, I'm leaving to you to do with as you please, including sections 245-296 of my journals, because they explain what I'm about to tell you; what I should've told you long ago. But one thing I want you to know first, Ludwig, is that I'll always and forever be there for you when you need me. If you ever need me, just imagine me there, and I'll help you out. Ever need brotherly advice? Call me. Just want someone to talk to? I'll be there.

Just look over your shoulder, little brother, I'll be there.

Here comes a more serious thing I never got to talk to you about. In about 888, there was born, in our home, a little empire. Only a few remember him, because this was before you "came around", so to speak. He was a little tyke, with dreams bigger than twice the size of Russia. He was short, even for his young age. He had short golden-blonde hair, and eyes blue as the summer sky in the alps.

His name was Holy Roman Empire, and he was a little brother to me.

One day, this kid went off to war, leaving behind a crumbled home and an undying love for a little country in a green maid dress named Italy. The war was later called the Hundred Years' War, and what was left of the poor kid's home was destroyed from it. For a little while, at least, he was like me: a personification of a nation that no longer existed. I took that kid home, to my house, and I put him to bed. I tucked him in, turned out the light, and smiled as I closed the door.

From then for another couple years or so, he remained in a dazed state. He didn't talk, he barely ate, and slept most of the day. Then, one day, I went to check on him, and he had suddenly shot up. Instead of being a kid that had yet to lose his baby fat, he was a young man of nine or ten.

He was you, West.

You didn't remember anything from when you were Holy Rome, so I thought you should know, since I never got to tell you in person.

To everyone else who bothered to come, thank you, for caring enough to show up, because it really does mean a lot to me.

If only to say it one last time, The Awesome Prussia thanks you all. You're Awesome.

Keep my memory alive, if it's not too much to ask. Danku shun.

-Prussia.

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><p><em>Germany set down the papers and stepped down from the podium silently, blotting tears from his already red eyes. He almost turned to the assembly of nations that had come to Prussia's funeral, but he refused to look at the surprisingly big turnout. Instead, he descended the short steps off the platform, headed for his seat in the front of the church. He stopped by the closed casket that held his older brother and ran a hand over the fine wood. Choking back more tears, he whispered,<em>

"_Goodbye, Brüder."_

**~Afterward~**

As Italy and Germany walked out of the funeral service, Italy asked,

"Germany, do you think he meant all the things he said?"

Germany looked at the Italian, "What, do you mean Brüder? When he said about being there and taking care of—"

"No," Italy said, "What he said about Holy Rome. Do you think you're really…"

"I don't know," Germany said, gazing intently at the ground, "But I'm pretty sure Brüder's journals will explain it." The blonde was quiet from then on, allowing the shorter man to watch him silently.

_I think he was, Germany_, Italy thought, _all this time, I was waiting for Holy Rome, and I never thought he would be Germany. Even now, I see the similarities between them. Yes, surely, Holy Roman Empire grew up to be Germany_.

"Italy? Is something wrong?"

The Italian blinked and met his companions eyes, then his closed again as he smiled goofily, "Nope! Hey, do you think we could get lunch? I'm hungry…"

As they were heading to Germany's car, Italy looked up at the partially-cloudy blue sky and smiled.

_Thank you, Prussia._

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><p>"He actually had a whole library of these…?" Austria wondered, stepping into Germany's basement, where there were shelves upon shelves of journals, all marked with numbers 1 to at least 600, and each were very, VERY large and very, VERY thick.<p>

Hungary took his hand and smiled, "We have time," She said, "I really don't think Gilbert would want us to hurry in burning his beloved 'Diaries of Awesome'."

Austria attempted a smile and agreed, "I guess you're right." Then, he looked back at the books and added, "Well, let's find these sections so we can start gathering everything else."

"What are you going to do with everything else, Austria?" Hungary asked, beginning to look through the shelves.

Roderich thought for a second, "Perhaps… perhaps I'll keep them."

"All of them?"

He shook his head, "I'll read through them first, and see if anything else is actually worth keeping. Then, maybe I'll just recycle the rest."

Hungary smiled, "Sounds like a plan to me."

Austria smiled back at his wife, then turned back to the books, found the section he was supposed to be keeping, and smiled to himself.

_Thank you, Prussia._

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><p>As promised, there was a stack of manga books and a thick manuscript on the desk in Prussia's bedroom. While he was there, Japan decided to flip through the manuscript to get a feel of what he'd be editing, and if he should tweak it a bit before publishing it.<p>

"Hmm… This is… actually rather good…" Japan said after reading a few pages. Then, he smiled softly and closed the 'script, with a determined, "Yosh!" He went over to the corner next to Prussia's bed, where the tiny yellow bird was taking a nap. The Asian nation set the books and manuscript down for a second, then gently poked the little bird. It woke up with a chirp, and Japan smiled.

"_Girubirdo-chan_," He greeted with a tiny nod of his head, "_Sumimasen_, but I was told by your former owner—"

Gilbird gave a few patterned chirps, as if recognizing the mention of his master.

"Yes, Prussia. He told me to take care of you from now on. Is that alright with you?"

The bird chirped sadly, looking mournful for his owner, then gave a single tweet, and landed on the Japanese man's shoulder, making him smile.

"Perfect. Let's go home, and hope Nii-chan doesn't hug you to death."

As Kiku walked out of the house to his car, he glanced at the bird on his shoulder. Gilbird was now asleep, which made Japan smile fondly.

_Thank you, Prussia._

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><p>"I totally didn't like the dress Hungary was wearing at the ceremony-whatever—"<p>

"Poland…"

"I mean, _seriously?_ Who wears, like, bright pink and _green?_ _Much_ less to, like, a funeral!"

"Poland!"

"The green I kind of liked, but this _totally_ wasn't the occasion to—"

"FELIKS!"

"Yeah, Lith?"

Lithuania sighed, "Could you at least be a _little_ respectful? People are still mourning Gilbert—"

"Ugh," Poland groaned, "Like, cry me a river!"

"Poland!"

"No, seriously! Like, that guy was nothing but nasty to us, like, under the Common Law and stuff? Why should we feel sorry for him?"

Lithuania bit back an argument. In truth, he and Prussia had become great friends since 1945, when the Berlin Wall went up, and Prussia spent four years at Russia's house. Both of them had spent countless nights talking about gaining their freedom and getting out of Russia's place, and planning out their escape. None of their plans were even attempted. Both of them were far too weak, but the one difference was that Prussia would have done it if he had his normal strength. Lithuania… all he could do was listen and hope. He listened very well; he had to, because Prussia was hard _not_ to pay attention to. He listened when Prussia would cry about losing his brother, losing his girl, sometimes even when he would rage about being trapped in that horrible house.

Lithuania also remembered when Prussia would try to talk Toris into escaping with him. The albino would get a certain fire in his eyes when he would talk about slipping out of Russia's house and never looking back, and Lithuania was jealous that he had the willpower to not freak himself out with worry.

Even laced with envy, the brunet could only smile when he thought about Gilbert.

_Thank you, Prussia._

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><p>Russia was probably the only one to ever leave a funeral annoyed. He was 'kolkolkol'-ing all the way home.<p>

But, also, he was thinking about the things that Prussia had said. Though his words were dripping in venom and hate, deep underneath all that hate, like if he squinted, turned his head to the side, used a microscope, and read between the lines _between_ the lines, he would find an almost grudging love for the Russian. Ivan knew it would never be as much as the burning passion the albino felt for Hungary, but he also knew that Gilbert never really hated him. Like, deep, deep, _deep_ down; so far down, it was almost like being at the bottom of a fifty-mile-deep chasm.

"It must just be that he was apart from his brother for so long." The Russian giggled.

But, that wasn't it. No, it was all those years of torture Prussia spent with Russia. An alliance—if one could even call it that—that he hadn't agreed to.

He had been caught between a rock and a hard place; damned if he loved him, damned if he hated him.

And yet, Russia was filled with a sense of gratitude as he reached home. Not only was he grateful for being acknowledged, like few that were, but he was also grateful to have been a part of the Prussian's life. It had been a long one, and Ivan wasn't very happy with the roll he'd played in it, but he was glad to have been a part of it at all, anyway. That was, he guessed, consolation for not having his hidden feelings for Gilbert returned.

He looked up at the snowy sky and the approaching bitter winter, and smiled.

_Thank you, Prussia._

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><p>Canada had found the present left for him on Prussia's bed, along with a smaller one, with a tag that read <em>"For Kumajiro; your adorable pet"<em>. Without even hesitating, Canada tore the paper off the first package, smiling at the little maple leaves printed on the gift wrap. Once he got it open, he looked, happy and surprised at what was in the box. His eyes began to tear up as he pulled out a large black box and a leaf-shaped bottle filled with the telltale thick caramel liquid that Matthew loved.

"Maple syrup," The Canadian laughed, wiping his eyes, "Isn't that just like Gil…?" Having dried his eyes a little bit, he opened the black box and gasped. He set the box down and pulled out a long silver chain with both a large maple leaf and Gilbert's iron cross on it. Also in the box was a note,

_**Mattie-**_

_**Take care of my cross, I'm trusting it with you. Don't ever take it off, okay?**_

_**Liebe, Prussia.**_

Canada smiled and fastened the chain around his neck, tears falling from his eyes silently. Then, he sat down on the bed and opened the second gift for Kumajiro. The bear poked his head up on the bed to see as well.

"Look, Mr. Kumajiro," Canada said, showing the box to his pet, "Prussia left you something, too."

It was a little orange collar, with red, stitched zigzags running along the length of it. On the ring of the collar was a tiny silver plate with the name _Kumajiro_ carved into it. Canada hugged his bear, still crying, then fastened the collar around the bear's neck. Then, Matthew got off the bed, picking up the trash and Kuma. He glanced back at the bed and smiled through his tears.

_Thank you, Prussia._

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><p>Even though some (*cough* most) of the things said in Prussia's goodbye letter would have been funny given better circumstances, neither of his best friends were in the mood to do much but mourn. They went to pick up the bag of <em>"toys"<em>, but neither had the heart to even open it. France had offered to stow it away in his basement until they were over the grieving process.

Neither spoke for days. They confided in each other in silence, only giving each other someone to lean on as they both stumbled out of the same bar, piss-crazy-drunk, for an entire week.

One morning, while in the midst of the worst hangover either of them had ever seen—so bad England didn't even laugh when he saw the two of them—Spain finally spoke.

"Amigo, we can't live like this forever."

France looked up as best he could from where he was laying on the floor to where Spain was lying across an armchair. "What do you mean?"

"Come on," Spain staggered as he got off the chair, taking France's arm, "We're taking a walk."

Their "walk"—more like a hung-over shuffle—ended at the graveyard where the fresh patch of earth lay, ten-foot-by-four-foot and six feet deep, in front of the grave of their best friend. They didn't speak, but leaned down to his tombstone and each gave it a kiss goodbye.

"Adios, mi mejor amigo," Spain muttered, "Te echaré de menos." ("I'll miss you.")

"Adieu, mon ami," France whispered, a sad smile on his lips, "Reposer en paix." ("Rest in peace.")

The two leaned on each other again as they stumbled away.

_Thank you, Prussia._

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><p><strong>DR: *wipes eyes* That literally made me cry. This is the saddest thing I've ever written, and, yes, Mysti-Reious, that includes that USUK roleplay we did a while ago. You know the one I mean. R&amp;R… if you want to…<strong>

**A couple things? I'm not too sure on the history references in this, the only one I'm definitely sure about is the Holy Rome = Germany rumor. I looked it up, and, yes, Germany was formed by the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire. So you know what I say to all those nay-sayers? GUESS WHO DID HER HISTORY HOMEWORK? Yeah… meh, too depressed to piss of haters… plus, it's two in the morning… So… yeah… signing off now.**


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